


run on for long

by tanyart



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Ficlet, Missing Scene, Movie Spoilers, Multi, scene filler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 07:05:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8134744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: He can hear the devil coming for them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Had to get this out of my system while the movie is still fresh in my head, ahaha.

When Goodnight finally rides in, guns blazing, Billy doesn’t say much.  The little town is chaotic, burning buildings and burning bodies, and Billy only spares a single glance at him, firing his rifle as he runs to the watchtower. There’s no time for words, and conversation has always been Goodnight’s specialty, not Billy’s.

Goodnight doesn’t know if he expects Billy to take his hand when they climb up the tower. A crippling conscience and a faint heart tells him that Billy only takes his hand because of dire circumstances, but the other part him—the one that had made him ride back to Rose Creek, lungs burning like fire, just knows Billy will grab onto his arm, as they had a hundred times before.

He’s not wrong.  Billy takes his hand, grip so sure and trusting Goodnight could write a dozen poems on the spot.

Instead, he hauls Billy up and they scramble their way to the top.  Billy still hasn’t strung more than three words together, nothing beyond the brisk command or warning.  His breathing is ragged.  He has no more breath to spare.  Sweat drips down his face and his hat is missing, along with all his knives.  Billy takes one corner of the watchtower, closing his eyes in brief respite before he snaps them open again and reloads his rifle.

When Billy finally speaks, it’s over the sound of bullets eating up wood and flesh alike. When Billy speaks, he’s shouting, wild and ecstatic.

“I knew you’d come back!” Billy sings, a brilliant grin on his face and a ferocious look in his eyes.

“Yeah?” Goodnight shouts back. He can hear bullets pinging off the church bells.  It’s fitting. Add another fancy metaphor to the list, and he can damn well write an entire ballad at this point.  He grins, impish despite the situation—or perhaps it’s _because_ of the situation.  “How d’ya know?”  

He has never heard Billy laugh so loud.  The sound rings brighter and louder than any church bells.  

Billy reaches into his breast pocket, pulling out the flask.  He grins, like it’s a confession he’d rather not chance saying aloud, lest noise of artillery drowns out his voice.

Goodnight hoots with more laughter.  Billy’s got him pegged, right dead center of his heart.  Billy’s never stuck one of his pins on him, but he thinks it might feel like this.  A sharp needle to the right in the chest.

It doesn’t need to be said.

 

* * *

 

Sometime in between the reloading, the blood, the snide remarks, and the laughing—Billy leaves his corner of the watchtower to press his shoulder against Goodnight. He holds out his hand for more bullets.  Goodnight gladly hands over what precious little ammo they have left.  It’s not much, but by God, Billy looks fantastic. The fiery light in his eyes matches the fire in the fields, his delighted yelling echoes the explosion of dynamite.

They’re both having the time of their life, and that time left is as little as their ammo.  He can hear the devil coming for them.

Billy leans over to kiss Goodnight, still grinning, and Goodnight has never felt more alive.

 

* * *

 

“My papa used to say,” Goodnight begins, exhaustion making his mind clumsy.  He struggles for words as his hands work over the rifle.  Reloading is second nature, but he’s not quite up there with poetry yet.

“Yeah? What did your father say?” Billy prompts, reloading with him.

Goodnight opens his mouth.  He can’t spare the time to look at Billy for long, but he does.  Just for a moment.  

“Well, uh,” Goodnight trails off, laughing again.  Lord almighty, he had set himself up bad for this.  Nothing remotely romantic can be followed up with a fatherly quote. “Well, he used to say a lot of things.”

Billy’s laugh takes on a hysterical edge, and Goodnight returns it, just as maniac.  He knows.  It doesn’t need to be said.

They make their last stand together, church bells ringing to the sound of the devil’s steps.


End file.
